


Searching for an Idea

by hmweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gift Fic, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Character Death, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmweasley/pseuds/hmweasley
Summary: After Fred's death, George has the horrible realization that his twin was the one who always came up with the ideas. Faced with dread that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes may not last much longer, George thinks he's finally saved when he speaks to Seamus Finnigan for the first time since the war.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley & George Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/George Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Searching for an Idea

George stared down at his work surface, just hoping for inspiration to strike. His eyes traced the scratches and stains that dotted the surface after years of him and Fred putting it through every experiment imaginable.

His chest tightened at the memories.

He was determined to keep Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes going. It was what Fred deserved, but developing products just wasn’t the same as it had been with his twin at his side.

Back then, he’d been excited to sit down and brainstorm new ideas, even if most of them wouldn’t make it past the brainstorm stage. The possibilities were endless! But he’d realized in the year since Fred’s death that he wasn’t actually that great at coming up with ideas.

Having a twin had masked certain things about himself that he was only learning as a twinless adult. One of them was that Fred had always had the first spark of an idea. George could help bring it to fruition, but rarely had he thought of something first. And it was impossible to develop an idea if you didn’t have an idea to develop in the first place.

He ran his fingers over a small hammer they used for crushing harder materials and sighed. He hadn’t used it in months. He’d hardly used anything in months. There was just nothing to do with the tools he and Fred had gathered together.

The store hadn’t released a new product since the war. So far, everyone had been too distracted to notice, but eventually, the rebound of everyone buying happy products in the war’s aftermath would fade. They’d lose interest in buying the same products again and again. Business would suffer. And no matter how determined George was to continue on for his brother, he wouldn’t have a choice.

A light knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts. He blinked, reorienting himself.

It was dark outside. George hadn’t even realized that he’d missed the dinner at the Burrow which he’d promised to attend a week before.

He sighed at a second knock, dreading who he’d find on the other side.

When he opened it to find Charlie, he sighed in relief. Anyone was better than his upset mother.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his shock making him sound a little more frustrated than intended.

Perhaps he was more irritated by his failure than he wanted to admit too.

“Checking in on you,” Charlie said, raising one eyebrow as if challenging George not to let him inside. “You didn’t come to dinner. Mum will have quite a bit to say to you the next time you see her.”

George shrugged despite the unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Mum’s always chewing me out for something,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly true. His mother had been gentler with him than ever since the war.

He settled into an armchair that he hadn’t used for a week because he’d been too preoccupied with work to do anything relaxing. The chair was cold, almost foreign. He couldn’t remember if he or Fred had picked it out when they’d been furnishing their flat. He couldn’t remember which of them had done most things in the past.

Charlie settled onto one side of the couch, glancing around the room as if he was searching for signs of distress.

George supposed he couldn’t be angry about it. After all, he had just completely forgotten his brother’s welcome home dinner that his mum had reminded him about daily for the past month.

“What have you been doing then?” Charlie asked, eyeing him uneasily.

George shrugged, not particularly eager to go into detail about the agony he’d been in. It was one thing to suffer in silence; it was another to detail it out loud. Especially to the coolest of his older brothers (not that he’d ever tell Bill that).

He hid his discomfort by launching into an unrelated question.

“Not much. What are you doing back in England anyway? You were just home for Christmas.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed as if he couldn’t decide whether George was serious or not.

“I figured it was a good idea to come home for the anniversary.”

George gasped. It hadn’t occurred to him that the one year anniversary of the battle was less than a week away. He’d been so caught up in his work that he never thought about dates. His employees were doing most of the day-to-day running of the store, and Hermione had stepped up to cover some of the financial tasks. George had to think hard to remember what the date even was.

“Oh.”

He considered the new information while trying to ignore how Charlie was watching him.

“Is that why you’re concerned about me?” he asked suddenly, looking at his big brother. “Because of the anniversary? I really hadn’t noticed it. Work has been keeping me busy. We haven’t released any new products since before Fred died, so that’s been taking up all my time.”

The excuses didn’t change the concerned look in Charlie’s eye. If anything, it made it worse.

“Are you sleeping?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked at the dark circles under George’s eyes. “Eating?”

George let out a disbelieving snort.

“Of course I am,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m fine, Charlie. I’ve told Mum a thousand times. It’s not like I’m despondent. I’m keeping myself busy.”

He saw the crease in Charlie’s brow deepen.

“Not too busy,” George stressed. “But Fred and I were always busy before anyway. If anything, I’ve been slacking compared to how we used to work. Trust me. I can take care of myself.”

Charlie sighed. He used his hands to push against his knees as he stood. He walked around the room as if without purpose, and George felt inexplicably nervous as he approached his work area. It was a mess, but no one could see the countless hours that George had sat there unable to think of an idea. Somehow, it still felt like his weaknesses were on display.

“So you’re developing new products?” Charlie asked, his gaze roving over the scattered tools and half-finished prototypes from before the war.

He seemed hesitant to touch anything, which was all well and good. George couldn’t even guarantee that he knew exactly what everything did. He’d forgotten about some of it.

“Trying to,” George said, adding a shrug. “It hasn’t been that easy.”

Charlie nodded absentmindedly and leaned his shoulder against the wall as he looked down at George.

“Sorry I can’t be of any help like Fred would have been,” he said, a sad look in his eye as he spoke about their brother. “The two of you were always the creative ones in the family. I could probably cause as much mayhem as the two of you if I really wanted, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near as memorable.”

George chuckled, his first genuine smile in days on his lips.

“Maybe not, but you still taught George and me loads.”

The two men smiled at each other, almost getting lost in their own memories of their childhoods. Things had been much simpler then. George had been certain that he and Fred would never run short of new ideas. He wished he still had that optimism.

“You should take a break.”

George blinked at Charlie for a second as he processed what he’d said.

“What?” he asked.

“You should take a break,” Charlie repeated. He sat back down across from George and leaned forward to capture his attention. “If you’re having trouble thinking of something new, you should step back and do something else. Then maybe you’ll think of something that you haven’t before.”

“ _You’re_ telling me to work less?” George said in disbelief. “Charlie Weasley, chronic overworker, is telling me to work less?”

Charlie sighed. He shook his head and looked at a spot on the wall as he spoke.

“I’ve been trying to get better about it since the war too. You said it yourself, I was just home at Christmas. That’s a record for me. I’ve even gotten back into Quidditch. Some of the other dragon handlers and I started a team. We play once a week.”

When George didn’t respond, he continued.

“Doing other stuff helps me clear my head. Maybe it would help you too. I don’t know. I’ve heard it’s supposed to work for most people.”

George was sceptical. That was never how he and Fred had worked, but then again, neither was the incessant brain block that he’d been dealing with. Perhaps Charlie was right that he should try something new. It was at least better than sitting around and becoming even more frustrated when he didn’t make any progress.

“You might be right,” he admitted. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Charlie.”

Charlie gave him a soft smile and leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder.

“Don’t mention it. This is what brothers are for.”

* * *

There was an anniversary party to mark one year since the Battle of Hogwarts.

George didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t a party in the raucous sense of the word. The event was somber and meant to be about honouring those who had sacrificed their lives for the betterment of the world. George could understand the desire to do something like that, but getting dressed up and pretending like he could celebrate his brother’s death felt wrong.

He stayed on the fringes of the party, wishing he could lighten things up like he’d always been able to with Fred. Other guests mingled with each other, many of them survivors of the battle or Ministry employees. George watched them all, keeping a particular eye on his family and those he knew. 

Harry had fallen into a deep conversation with Kingsley, now Minister for Magic. Percy was trying to make polite conversation with anyone who wouldn’t run away from him, all part of a scheme he’d explained to George earlier in the day to get support for a new program he wanted to start. George hadn’t bothered listening to the details.

He knew that, under different circumstances, watching Percy try and fail to woo people over would have brought him endless amusement, but as it was, he didn’t much care. He leaned against the wall, glass of firewhisky in hand.

The sea of people in front of him eventually became one mass as his brain stopped bothering to identify who was who.

“How are things over here?”

George blinked at Seamus Finnegan, who was suddenly standing beside him. George hadn’t even noticed him approaching. He raised his glass in a casual salute, and Seamus mimicked him.

“Good,” George said with a shrug. “Just people watching.”

Seamus joined him in leaning against the wall, his arm brushing against George’s. George resisted an urge to move away. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to accept physical affection from anyone who wasn’t his mother.

“You?” George asked belatedly, remembering that was polite when making conversation.

Seamus laughed.

“Not much. Working a lot lately. I’ve been doing some office stuff for the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Nothing exciting. Everything with the joke shop going well?”

George kept his eyes on the mass of people in front of him. It was easier that way. He couldn’t unload his recent troubles onto Seamus. The two of them had nothing more than a friendly camaraderie that was mostly centered on mutual friends.

“Yeah, business has been steady,” he said.

It was the most optimistic thing he could say that was truthful. They hadn’t had anything like the booming growth he and Fred had experienced during their first year, but business wasn’t suffering. Yet.

“Good, good,” Seamus muttered, taking a sip of his butterbeer. “I really admire what you’ve managed to build.”

George gave him a tight smile, all the while biting back a correction. It had been him and Fred who had built it; George certainly hadn’t done it himself.

Seamus didn’t notice his discomfort. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he, too, stared at the people in front of them without seeing them.

“I always wanted to do something like that,” he admitted. “Develop products like you and Fred. I’ve had so many great ideas over the years, but I’m not smart enough to develop them like you two. So, they just stay inside my head.”

George stiffened, staring at Seamus as if he were a phantom.

“Actually,” he said slowly, not yet sure if he would regret his words, “the ideas are what I’ve been struggling with the most lately.”

Seamus turned to him, his brow furrowing as he noticed how intensely George was watching him.

“Would you want to talk about your ideas sometime?” George asked, his heart pounding in his chest. “Maybe we could make some of them into reality. And I’d compensate you for any ideas we use of course.”

Seamus beamed at him, and George’s heart sped up in his chest. It had been such a long time since he’d felt real joy over the idea of creating.

“That sounds great!” Seamus exclaimed. “I’d love to talk with someone about them. No one’s ever cared before.”

George’s returning smile was no longer forced.

* * *

George fell into a routine with Seamus. They met every Friday afternoon at a small cafe down the street from George’s shop. Seamus would come with at least one idea, sometimes good and sometimes horrendously bad. But whichever it was, the two men would fall into a lively discussion about whether or not it could work, and George found himself laughing more than he had in a long time.

He also found himself contributing ideas of his own before long. The first one came to him in the middle of an argument about Seamus’ idea of breeding pygmy puffs with quills like hedgehogs instead of fur. George hated the idea, but their conversation got his mind going until he had an idea of his own.

It hit him with such force that he was stunned and hardly able to voice it to Seamus.

But it kept happening with increasing frequency the more the two men talked until George couldn’t ignore the positive effect that their meetings had on him.

“Come work for me,” he said suddenly one Friday afternoon.

He ran his thumb over the warm coffee mug in his hands as he waited for Seamus’ response.

The other man froze in the middle of a long winded explanation for some kind of fake ghosts that he said were modeled on something the Muggles called holograms. His smile fells as his eyes widened.

“Do you mean it?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” George said with a laugh. “We’ve developed more potential products together in the last month than I came up with in an entire year on my own. I’d be a fool not to hire you.”

He had expected Seamus to say yes. After all, he looked happy whenever he and George spoke. He was usually overflowing with energy during their meetings, but now he stared down at his tea.

“I don’t think I can do that,” he said quietly.

George felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What do you mean? You hate your job. You’ve said so yourself a hundred times. Why not come do something you actually enjoy?”

Seamus gave a short, disbelieving laugh and raised one eyebrow.

“Do you really not know?” he asked, leaving George gaping in response as his mind ran a mile a minute.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what Seamus meant.

“I like you,” Seamus stated bluntly, staring directly into George’s eyes.

If Seamus turning him down before had been a punch to the gut, this was something else entirely. Every cell in George’s body filled with energy, leaving him unsure of what to do with it.

“You what?” he asked weakly.

Seamus laughed again, relieved to have gotten the words out.

“I like you,” he repeated. “Even at Hogwarts, I admired you, but the past few months, talking like this, has only made my feelings for you stronger. You’re brilliant, George, and I’ve spent every single day we’ve spent together resisting the urge to lean across the table and kiss you.”

That was all the prompting George needed to do the exact thing that Seamus had previously restrained himself from doing. He grabbed Seamus’ collar and smiled as Seamus let out a surprised huff against his lips. 

He didn’t care that others in the shop were undoubtedly watching them with disapproval. He didn’t care that the edge of the table was pressing uncomfortably into his abdomen. He didn’t care that the angle wasn’t the best.

Seamus moved his lips against his, and George felt more alive than he had in over a year. He thought that having ideas again had brought something back to him, but kissing Seamus was something else entirely, and George didn’t want to stop.

Eventually, though, he had to. They were still in public, and they had plenty of things to talk about.

George cleared his throat as he settled back into his seat, still ignoring the glares of some of the other customers. He watched with satisfaction as Seamus adjusted his shirt collar, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

“I can see how that would complicate you working for me,” George said with a smirk.

He was full of a sudden confidence that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and Seamus sensed it too. His eyes were darker than usual as he stared back at George.

“It would,” he said in a husky voice that nearly made George gasp. “But I’m sure we can figure out other arrangements.”

George smiled, feeling warm and satisfied as he took another sip of his coffee. He reached out to link Seamus’ fingers with his, giving them a squeeze. Maybe he hadn’t gained an employee that day, but he had gained something much better.


End file.
